


Inappropriate Use of Quidditch Gear

by Depraved Necromancer (DragonaireAbsolvare)



Series: Inappropriate Use of Various Objects [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Flirting, Gratuitous Smut, Horniness, Lust, M/M, Object Insertion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Professor Tom Riddle, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Rimming, Self-Indulgent, Shameless Smut, Smut, THOT Tom, no beta-we die like illiterates, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonaireAbsolvare/pseuds/Depraved%20Necromancer
Summary: A professor doing rounds past curfew may catch students doing all sorts of dubious activities inside alcoves, niches and broom cupboards.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Inappropriate Use of Various Objects [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045497
Comments: 4
Kudos: 146





	Inappropriate Use of Quidditch Gear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dutch (itsevanffs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/gifts).



“Gryffindor in possession, Weasley to Bell, a well-aimed Bludger from Bradley and it’s back to Weasley- Merlin what a proper sprite that girl is!”

“Creevey!” McGonagall yelled.

The scrawny commentator ducked from the transfigured handkerchief-turned-shoe, just in time to see Ginevra Weasley’s spectacular Underhand score against Ravenclaw. “What a shot! Right through Page’s grasp- Gryffindor scores! Things are finally looking up for them, with the score at 80-110!”

Tom wrapped his scarf even tighter around his neck. The day was exceptionally windy, although not cold, and he’d rather have the cloth around his throat than floating away into the hands of his numerous enamoured female students.

Pale brown eyes scanned the skies for a glimpse of jet-black hair and scarlet robes, and promptly found his target drifting lazily above the Ravenclaw hoops.

The chasers of both teams were evenly matched, although Ravenclaw had superior beaters- Gryffindor’s rookies simply couldn’t match up to Lambs’ skill and Bradley’s five years of experience playing various positions. And the Lions’ keeper seemed terribly off the weather, Tom mused, as Ravenclaw was awarded a penalty- a poor shot from Chambers that the Weasley boy let in.

Promptly, Malfoy and his group began their latest rendition of ‘Weasley is our King’, accompanied by boos and catcalls from the rest of the Snakes. Tom quirked his lips when McGonagall shot them a furious look and went back to watching the game.

“Quaffle to Chambers, Robins blocks him- over her head to Burrow- would you look at that! Weasley steals the Quaffle mid-flight! Dribbling between Weasley and Robins- ooh! That Bludger looks downright nasty! Robins is down!”

The Gryffindor chaser got patched up by Madam Pomfrey and was back in action, but the Quaffle was now in Ravenclaw’s possession, Burrow zooming towards the Gryffindor posts, dodging Derrick’s Bludger and intending to shoot at point-blank range. Weasley looked determined, but his movements were horribly clumsy.

“...Always lets the Quaffle in,

That’s why all the Slytherins sing...” The green stands were bursting with chorus.

“Burrow scores! 130-80 to Ravenclaw! Looks like Gryffindor will be done in if Potter doesn’t find the Snitch soon…” Creevey’s voice dropped from its perpetual state of excitement as Chambers and Stretton whooped and thumped Burrow on the back.

The game resumed, Bell in possession and switching between Robins and Weasley in an arrowhead formation while Bole sent Bludgers at the Ravenclaw keeper.

Tom suddenly felt the urge to glance at jet-black hair again, and was rewarded with the first glimpse of Gryffindor’s star seeker, Harry Potter, going into alert mode and shooting towards the Slytherin stands at breakneck speed. There seemed to be a flash of gold at the foot of the stands, and Chang, who had been hovering near the commentator, shot after him.

It was a moment of breathlessness, watching Potter hurling himself at them on that top-model broom of his- and Tom was sure he was going to crash into the stands. Chang was right at his tails, and didn’t stand a chance when Potter suddenly made a ridiculous right-angle turn, inches away from the wooden surface to hover idly in front of Draco Malfoy’s blood-drained face.

Chang, however, didn’t have that same luck.

She crashed into the stands with a sickening crunch, and Madam Pomfrey hurried out of the medical stand to check up on her. But before Hooch could pause the game, Potter had shot back up, circling the stands until he made an abrupt halt near the teachers’ stall and grabbed the Snitch right in front of the commentator.

Creevey roared, his voice magnified ten times into a deafening sound of triumph as he announced the final score, 230-130 to Gryffindor, while Potter circled the stands again, this time at a more leisurely pace to rub it in Malfoy’s face when he neared the Slytherin stands.

The Ravenclaws sent him furious looks that he shrugged off with ease, used to adoration and hatred in equal parts from the moment he became the youngest Seeker in a century. It took most people a while to realise that the Snitch had been near Chang, and that Potter’s outrageous stunt had been to shift the girl’s attention to the wrong place- and take her out, apparently, from the cunning way his green eyes glinted in the sun.

Merlin, Tom could appreciate that.

He was not a fan of Quidditch, but how could he not appreciate Potter’s shrewd, Slytherin tactics in the pitch? It was blatantly dirty playing, yet so immaculately executed that no one could call it a foul.

Potter was swarmed by his teammates and lost in a flurry of red, and Tom could almost pretend he hadn’t seen the boy wink at him. Almost.

Of course, the tomato-shade of his face was due to the howling wind and nothing more.

.............................

Tom was doing his rounds and sending lurking couples to bed with sternly worded warnings. It was a part of his job that he did not like. No, thank you, he’d rather not see the private bits of his students, however dim the lighting.

Except- casting ‘Revelio’ in an alcove in the dungeons revealed Potter, and the boy unabashedly sauntered out, still in his Quidditch robes. Tom’s gaze darted to the strip of lightly-tanned skin peeking out from the unbuttoned robes, and he immediately straightened himself.

“It’s past curfew.” He rasped, and cursed his dry throat. Potter grinned and leaned closer, and Tom could smell the musky cologne and faint traces of Fire-whiskey.

Clearly, he was back from a party in the Gryffindor Tower.

“Yes, Professor Riddle.” Potter drawled, rolling the syllables in his mouth and placing his calloused palm onto Tom’s chest. “Will it be detention this time?” His fingers played with the silver buttons, trailing lower until it was pressing lightly on Tom’s hard bulge. “Have you been keeping yourself stretched for me, _sir?”_

Tom flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter.”

The dratted boy smirked, eyes stunningly green even in the dim light. His palm snaked around Tom’s hips to settle on his arse and squeezed. An uncharacteristic whimper left Tom’s throat before he could even control it. “Oh, yes you have.” Potter sighed, pulling his unresisting body into the alcove and casting a Privacy ward.

“Unauthorised magic in the corridors-“ Tom began feebly, but was cut off when Potter tore his scarf off, revealing red and purplish marks high over his collar.

“Punish me all you like, _Professor.”_ The boy leered, attacking Tom’s throat with gusto. “Unless- you’d like to have an audience? Isn’t that our Potions-Master’s quarters by that bust?”

“No-”

“You’d like him to watch as I take you against the wall, wouldn’t you?” With a quick, practised move, Potter pulled the trousers off Tom’s long legs. The boy’s knees were flush against Tom’s arse and grinding mercilessly.

Potter licked his lips appreciatively at the knowledge that Tom hadn’t been wearing any pants underneath. The professor’s erection bobbed achingly, flushed an angry red, and the boy made no move to sate it.

No, Potter’s attention was on Tom’s arse- the bejewelled phallus resting between his cheeks, to be specific. He slid the object out partially, appreciating the amount of slick and lube that covered it and knowing how easy it was going to be to slide into that arse later. “Mm, good boy. Ten points to Slytherin.”

Tom preened under the praise and urged the Gryffindor’s hand towards his erection.

“All in good time, darling.” Potter said, raking his fingers up and down Tom’s sinewy thighs. “I intend to have dessert first.” He glanced up with a suggestive leer and Tom spread his legs, relishing the texture of Potter’s tongue against the oversensitive ring of muscle.

The tongue darted in with little experimental licks, brushing on the walls and sucking on his perineum while the Quidditch-calloused hands kneaded his pale buttocks.

Tom laid his burning forehead onto the cool stone and prayed Snape wouldn’t turn up here after his rounds- and then Potter began suckling on his balls while the long fingers played open his arse, and he couldn’t think anymore.

“Let me hear you, sir.” The boy said, and bit down on the tender flesh of his buttocks. Tom moaned wantonly, wandlessly reinforcing the Privacy ward so that he wouldn’t have to stuff his hand into his mouth anymore.

The hands gripped his hips and began fucking him onto the tongue impaling him, and Tom agonised over his weeping cock. When he moved to touch himself, a Stinging hex hit him on the crease where his thighs met his arse.

“Fuck me already, Potter!” Tom hissed angrily, eyes flashing red.

The blasted boy slid his tongue out and licked a wet stripe up his spine as he rose, and settled to nibble on Tom’s nape. “Feeling hypocritical?”

Potter stopped his ministrations entirely, merely pressing down Tom’s wrists against the wall and letting him buck and writhe in want.

It was only two days back that Tom had bullied Potter in his Defence NEWTs class, taunting the boy over his lack of self-restraint and volatile temper. He should have known it would be used against him.

“Come it off, Potter... we both know you- _ah_ \- enjoy it...”

Potter smiled, peppering Tom’s jaw with little nips and nibbles. “You know me so well, Professor.”

His fingers undid Tom’s buttons one by one- waistcoat first, followed by his dress shirt- while his hard, clothed cock rutted against him, keeping time with the soft lips mouthing into the Defence master’s hollow cheeks. Finally enough of Tom was laid bare under Potter’s exploring palms that one hand curled around the aching cock and stroked, bringing it to much needed release.

Tom shuddered in release, arching into Potter as he covered the wall in streaks of come with each spasm of his body.

It took an indefinite while for Tom to come down from his high, and he reached to take care of the boy’s erection, but had his hand swatted aside.

“Now, now, Professor. You’ve prepared yourself for me so well- we wouldn’t want all that effort to go to waste, do we?” For emphasis, he slid his thumb into Tom’s arsehole and pulled it out with a wet ‘pop’.

Tom watched with undisguised lust as the boy unlaced his Quidditch trousers and tossed them off, his pants after. Potter’s cock stood up proudly, glistening at the uncut tip where a bead of pre-ejaculate had begun to gather. The green of his eyes were reduced to a slim ring around his dilated pupils, his desire clear in the way that gaze raked over Tom’s debauched body.

It was one of the few things that put Tom at ease, not that he would ever admit it. Knowing that Potter wanted him as much as Tom did him made it more comfortable for the Professor to lean back and let the boy have his filthy way with him.

Potter was stroking himself in a slow, languorous pace. From the roguish tilt of his mouth, Tom knew the boy was doing it to irk him, especially now that Tom’s bereft arse was clenching around nothing, what with the emerald-hilted dildo forgotten in the pile of robes.

“Potter!” Tom snarled, grabbing the boy by the collar.

The boy pulled him into a bruising kiss, and Tom bit him back in earnest, fingers curling around the inky locks of hair and tugging desperately. “Harry... I want you…” He breathed into the boy’s ear.

Potter was a little bitch.

This was something he always knew, but conveniently forgot whenever the boy pulled him into empty alcoves or broom closets.

So he shouldn’t have been surprised when Potter laughed into the corner of Tom’s mouth and shook his head.

“With all due respect, sir- I’m not nearly as hung as you are. I doubt I could satisfy you the way that dildo did.”

Tom stared. What was the meaning of that?

That thing had been Potter’s idea of a Christmas present, lovingly addressed to ‘Mr Tom, a Dildo-Lover’, and the only reason Tom had walked around all day with it up his arse- as much as he was ashamed to admit it- was to see Potter’s reaction. And now-

Potter didn’t give him a chance to finish his internal monologue- he sunk into Tom in a quick, fluid thrust and cut him off midway.

“Which is why I was thinking of adding a little extra fun.” Potter was smirking as he stretched out one hand. “Accio Firebolt.”

The broom flew into his hands from where it had been hidden in the shadows. The sleek ebony handle with its diamond-hard polish glinted deviously in the darkness of the alcove.

Tom gaped, mouth suddenly dry.

Potter’s lips moved as he mouthed the lubrication charm, running Tom’s suddenly slick palm over the broomstick’s handle, slathering the liquid onto its fine hardwood surface. And then the cool tip was pressing against Tom’s sphincter, sliding into him to slot perfectly against Potter’s cock.

Tom could feel Potter’s lips curve into a very satisfied smile against his cheekbones, and the boy moved to suck on his earlobe while he began to slowly rock into Tom. His hand held the broom, often shifting its position to thrust lightly in tandem with his cock.

The tip of the broom brushed Tom’s prostate when Harry angled it up, using his other hand to stroke the professor’s spent length back to life.

“Potter-” he croaked, overwhelmed by the fact that Potter was fucking him with his broomstick. His _very expensive, world-class_ broomstick. Tom was sure this wasn’t what Potter’s obscenely rich godfather meant when he handed the broom to the boy and said, ‘Use it well.’

“Actually, he’ll be mad that I’m using it on the Head of Slytherin.” The rascal had the nerve to laugh as he pressed another kiss to the corner of Tom’s lips.

Tom glared- although it was cut off by another rough jab at his prostate, this time with the head of Potter’s cock. The professor moaned loudly, swearing in coarse Muggle phrases before bucking back and angling himself so that Harry could pound into him better. “I’d rather you don’t talk about your Godfather when you’re buried inside me.”

The green eyes shone in mirth as Potter panted, his thrusts speeding up and making filthy, wet sounds of flesh slapping flesh, drops of pre-come trickling out of Tom’s arse and running down his pale, freckled legs. Potter heaved, his grip vicelike on Tom’s skin- He would need long sleeves and a turtleneck the next day as well- if he managed to get up from bed, that was.

“Oh, Tom.” Harry panted, not really aware of what he was mumbling. Tom grunted back, arms wrapped around the boy’s waist as his movements got sloppier and sloppier, until the boy let go of the broom and drove in one last time, shuddering as he came, filling Tom’s arse with hot spunk.

Loose-limbed, Harry loosened his hold on Tom, and now it was the professor holding him up.

“Here- let me finish-” The boy heaved as he wrapped one arm around Tom’s neck and took him in his hand, stroking the shaft and thumbing the head. Tom began to jerk his hips, desperate for more friction, chasing sweet release.

Tom came with a cry, covering the boy’s hand with his seed, arse clenching tightly around the ebony broom handle as he rode out his high in quick, panting breaths.

When his body relaxed, the broom slipped out of him and righted itself mid-air before hovering at mounting height.

Bloody Firebolts.

Tom’s legs gave way and they collapsed on the alcove floor, too exhausted to care that it was technically a public place, and that any teacher on patrol could come by and catch them- effectively ending Tom’s two-decades-long career as Defence professor (with the minor complication of engaging in sexual affairs with a student.)

“So good, so good for me-” Harry’s voice was incoherent, his lips mouthing the professor’s name like a fervent prayer while Tom carded his spindly fingers through Harry’s thick mop of hair.

“Yes, darling.” Tom smiled, his pale brown eyes unusually warm as he regarded his young (and illicit) lover. He loved the power he had over Harry- especially after a good round of shagging, when the boy was utterly blissed out and collapsed against him.

Neither he nor Harry had any intention of parting so soon, so they sat there in contented silence, bare skin pressed flush against each other, often tilting their heads for another languid kiss.

“You’ll have a lot of cleaning to do.” Tom observed dryly, glancing at the ejaculate drying on the Firebolt’s ebony handle.

Potter smirked. “Won’t you clean it with your mouth, sir?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright.”

It was nearly dawn when he persuaded Potter to head back to Gryffindor tower, taking fifteen points off for being out after curfew and another five for disrespecting a teacher. The dratted boy had waited to see Tom slip the bejewelled dildo back in- because it couldn’t be found in his possession no matter what.

“Professor? Are we still having detention?”

Tom pursed his lips. “You called me a two-faced bastard _in class_ , Potter. Of course you’re in detention.” And then narrowed his eyes at the brat’s conceited smirk. “It will be _detention.”_

“I look forward to the punishment, sir.” Potter winked and went his merry way, leaving Tom in a very odd state of furious affection. “Good day, Professor Riddle.”

Salazar, that brat was going to be the death of him.

.................................

When Tom turned from the blackboard, where he had been drawing the wand movement for the Bombarda Refrenor, (invented six months ago, and hadn’t been added into any textbooks yet) he was just in time to catch Potter tossing said spell at Malfoy’s inkwell.

There was a minor explosion that would have covered the blond brat in permanent colour-changing ink had Tom not thrown a shield around the afflicted inkwell. It was perfect first-time casting, and the boy was easily the best student Tom had taught in his years at Hogwarts- and was sure to get an O in his Defence NEWTs, but the boy already had too big of a head to be awarded points.

“Potter!”

The boy regarded him with a shark-like smile. “Yes, sir?”

“Detention.” And it would be _detention,_ he conveyed with his displeased, stern gaze.

“Of course, sir.”

When the boy showed up in his classroom in the evening, Tom had half a mind to reschedule the detention to the afternoon next day, effectively taking Potter out of the Quidditch match and giving Slytherin a fair chance to win the game.

He stubbornly ignored Potter’s heated gaze and set the boy to work- restoring the classroom back to its usual state after Seventh-year NEWTs duelling practice.

For his part, Potter worked in silence; he repaired and stacked the dummies neatly on the shelves, cleaned up the debris and spell-residue and rearranged the furniture before heading out without a word.

Tom stared at the door the boy had just closed, feeling unsettled. Potter was never obedient. There must have been something- his eyes scanned the room for anything that had not been there, and settled on his own desk.

On top of a stack of essays was an innocuous paper box, again addressed to ‘Mr Tom, a Dildo Lover’ in the horrible, familiar chicken-scratch that could belong only to one person. Tentatively, he opened it, remembering that the Slytherin vs Gryffindor match was the next day. He had a fair inkling of what the gift was supposed to be for.

It was a little Golden Snitch, likely one of the numerous Potter had caught during a game and stowed away in his pocket. The girth was slightly bigger and much smoother than the various other (very inappropriate) items they had... ‘experimented’ with.

The Snitch fluttered its wings and wriggled in his fingers. And that, Tom decided, was the line in the sand that he would not cross. No, that emerald-studded dildo would have to do.

..................................

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Gift to Dutch, for I was supposed to yeet a THOT Tom art at him, but it was words that came out instead.  
> I was tempted to write my own prompt.  
> Prompt: Professor BotTom, Quidditch Captain Harry, inappropriate use of broomsticks and broom cupboards. (Please let it be Quidditch themed)


End file.
